Cynthia was curled up on her sofa, hypnotized by the glow and flicker of television light. The images on the screen barely registered behind the sheen of tears that threatened to spill down her cheeks. This wasn't how she had pictured spending her evening. She should have been dancing the night away in Adam's arms at the Christmas Gala, feeling the Italian silk of her fabulous new dress swishing around her legs instead of the rough wool of a Mexican throw she had acquired on a badly-timed trip to Cancun years before. It had rained the whole time she was there, save for one sunny day when she managed to fry herself to a crisp by the pool. The weak cup of herbal tea which had long gone cold in her hands did nothing to enhance her spirit.

Lousy timing. It was becoming a pattern in her life. A sad, sorry pattern, not unlike the one on the blanket under which she was currently huddled.

It wasn't Adam's fault she was alone. His sister needed help, and Cynthia acknowledged the severity of the situation. The woman was in bad shape. She was working two jobs, ostensibly to support her three children, but in reality she was snorting her wages up her nose alongside her good-for-nothing, unemployed addict of a boyfriend. She had turned away from anyone who meant anything to her, and after a botched attempt at an intervention, the rest of her family was at a loss as to what they could do.

Cynthia wasn't without sympathy for the woman, and for what Adam and his family were going through, but just once, she wished she could come first with him. There was always something more important, someone with more pressing problems taking him away from her. Sometimes she felt guilty for thinking that way, and other times she told herself that wanting to be a priority wasn't selfish; it was no less than she deserved. She'd had a string of unfulfilling relationships with men, if one could even call them relationships. She'd been burned more times than she cared to remember, and she was beginning to wonder if she wasn't sabotaging her own happiness by subconsciously choosing relationships that were doomed to fail. What was she so afraid of? Why couldn't she find someone with whom she could be truly happy?

As the drone of the television continued to fill the apartment, she closed her eyes, and thought of Paolo, a beautiful god of a man whose impact on her life had been tremendous. They had met at a friend's wedding out of town years before, and it had been lust at first sight. He was a European dream, charismatic, and a clotheshorse to boot. His name, the Italian form of Paul, meant "small", but he had been larger than life. From the dance floor to the bedroom, their relationship had been intense. Living in different cities, they saw each other infrequently, but spent hours together online and on the phone. His seductive accent more than made up for his less-than-stellar typing skills, and even their phone sex had been volcanic. He had shown her the world, literally. They had vacationed in some of the most exclusive resorts around the globe, and he had shared with her things that most women never get to see.

Unfortunately, it was Cynthia who hadn't seen what should have been apparent to her all along. Their time together had been all play in a fantastic, carefree world, free from any negative effects of the daily grind. When reality set in, she concluded that Paolo was not the man she wanted to spend her life with. Instead of developing into a steady, everlasting flame, the fire betweem them had consumed all the common ground, and the relationship burned out. She had gone to visit him one last time, prepared to break things off for good, when he beat her to the punch and announced that he was engaged to another woman – a beautiful, intelligent, charming woman Cynthia had met previously and actually liked very much, which of course made the sting that much sharper. In the blink of an eye, her world came crashing down around her. It had been a long time before she was able to trust anyone again.

Deciding to focus on her career, she had taken a job with Marty Ryder and his agency before it became Vanguard Advertising. She started as a receptionist, and worked her way up the corporate ladder to become Administrative Assistant to Brian Kinney. It wasn't the most glamorous position in the world, but she liked her job and the people she worked with. Brian was ruthless in business, and did not suffer fools kindly, but he was always decent to her and she respected his ethics. They worked well together because she was always two steps ahead of him, anticipating his needs. He was a fountain of creative ideas and had the skills to pull everything together; she added her organizational skills to the mix and kept him abreast of the relevant goings-on. She met him on the run every morning, played guard dog outside his office when necessary, and when he was a beast she wisely made her retreat and held his calls.

Once in a while Brian would turn on the Kinney charm, and when combined with his devastating good looks, almost no one was immune. Cynthia was smart enough, however, to know that putting up with his shit on a daily basis would be self-torture for any partner, and it kept her from mooning over him like so many others had before her – never mind the fact that she didn't even play for his team. Brian wasn't closeted at work, but he didn't flaunt his sexuality either. It was irrelevant to the work he did, and as he liked to point out rather bluntly to anyone who did have the audacity to make a comment, it was nobody's business except his own and the person whose ass he was plowing.

When Adam came along, it was like someone had infused her life with fresh air. They liked the same things, and came from the same background. His smile could light up a room, and his heart was a mile wide. He wanted what she wanted, cared about the things she cared about. They finished each other's sentences. They could have been soulmates, but there was something missing – that special 'spark' she'd been searching for all her life, and had yet to find with any man. It frustrated her immensely, yet she refused to settle.

She imagined all of her friends, with their fabulous lives, and partners they loved, celebrating every glorious moment together, enjoying the holidays while she sat alone, feeling sorry for herself. She knew it was pathetic, but she didn't care. Sometimes a good cry was very therapeutic, and so she allowed herself the luxury of wallowing.

Cynthia pulled herself up to a sitting position in order to reach for the Kleenex box. Jazz, the Burmese feline who had been snuggled up next to her on the couch, protested with a strangled 'meow'. He uncurled himself, stretching his legs as far as they would extend, then arched his back and yawned so wide it appeared as if his jaw had become unhinged. He stood, turned in a circle, plopped himself down, and promptly curled up again. Cynthia just shook her head. "You're the only male in my life who hasn't let me down," she sighed, rubbing him behind his ears as he purred, oblivious to the complicated interactions of the larger creatures who provided food and belly scratches.

. . . . .

The last thing Justin expected to see on a Saturday morning at the mall was Brian and his son. "What are you doing with him?" Justin asked, reaching out to ruffle Gus' hair, as the boy squirmed in his daddy's arms.

"Sonny boy spent the night with me at the loft."

"Actually, I was talking to Gus," Justin grinned, making a face at the tyke. "Daddy gets grumpy at the mall."

"Well, he's a little young to make it over here on his own."

Justin could tell that Brian was itching to get out of there; his sarcasm lacked its usual bite. "I'm meeting Daphne to do some Christmas shopping, but I have a few minutes. Want to grab a latte?"

"Can't right now. The munchers are taking Gus to see S-A-N-T-A. I said I'd meet them here and, as usual, they're late." Brian put the boy in his stroller and tried to get him to stop fussing. "This place is a zoo... it's hot, it's noisy, there's a sea of people everywhere you look–" he stopped, because Justin was laughing. "What's so fuckin' funny?"

"You. You're such a grinch!”

"Whatever." Brian stood up and fished in his pocket for his cigarettes. He was going to need one soon.

"I don't seem to remember you complaining last time we were packed in like sardines at Babylon, with all the heat and noise," Justin pointed out.

"Look around... it's a bunch of breeders in reindeer sweaters. And this... monstrosity..." he pointed to the winter wonderland across the way, where the elves were preparing for the arrival of Santa. "Makes me want to heave." Brian hated the commercialization of the holiday, the forced frivolity, and the idea most of the retail-bound Christians seemed to have that if they spent enough money on their loved ones, they would somehow make Jesus happy. The irony was not lost on him that he had made a living out of convincing people to spend their hard-earned cash on all the trappings of the season.

Justin put a hand on Brian's neck and leaned close to whisper, "You can 'bah humbug' all you want, but I know you secretly love this time of year. Especially now that Gus is old enough to get excited about it."

Brian only grunted in response. He didn't feel the need to defend his position any further.

Justin's attitude was at the complete opposite end of the spectrum. The sensory overload and the bustling crowds didn't bother him... it was mild white noise in his happy holiday world. He let the spirit of Christmas fill him up. He was in love with Brian, and he planned to move back into the loft after the holidays were over. They were committed to each other, and nothing else mattered. He had his mom and his sister, and great friends, and his art. What more could anyone ask for?

. . . . .

Cynthia made her way through the crowd of mall shoppers, headed for the Koyman Gallery, where she was picking up a painting for her parents. She was feeling slightly rejuvenated after dropping off gifts for the children at the hospital, and spending some time with the little ones who would not make it home for Christmas. Cynthia had become especially close with a few of the patients in the Paediatric Oncology group, and had been rewarded with their bright smiles and special hugs when she arrived bearing stuffed animals, toys and books for the holidays. The staff did all they could to make the ward as festive as possible, and welcomed all the volunteer help they could get.

The painting was for her parents’ wedding anniversary on the 18th, just a week before Christmas. Cynthia had always liked the idea of a winter wedding, and a honeymoon in the snow. There was the warmth of the holidays, the comfort of being snuggled up inside by the fire, surrounded by silver decorations and shimmering lights, and watching the white flakes fall on the lawn. It seemed that everyone she knew wanted to get married in May or June, because of the warmer weather and likelihood of sunshine, but she was glad her parents hadn't gone the traditional route. She hoped to be as happy as they were someday.

Her "to do" list was still quite long, however; not only did she have some of her own last-minute Christmas shopping to do, but she also had to meet Brian and get a list of clients who were unexpected, last-minute additions to the firm's Christmas party and for whom she needed to purchase gifts.

Cynthia thought back to her first official office party years before, and how dull the evening had been. It was a big disappointment for her, but she quickly learned that no matter what the occasion, when one was with coworkers, one had to consider oneself ‘at work’. The room had been small and stuffy, the music was canned, and the entertainment consisted of a juggler with a bad toupée. Her date had been the one bright spot in her evening. Chris was smart, athletic, kind, and ambitious. He was the perfect young man, someone even her mother had approved of. They'd met at Starbucks, over the milk chocolate shavings. They'd both reached for the shaker at the same time, bumped hands, and the rest was history. Cynthia remembered bringing him home for dinner one night, and ten minutes later her relatives were naming their first born. The problem with perceived perfection, however, is that there's nowhere to go but down. With Chris she felt safe and content, but there was no burning passion, no spontaneity. And, as it had begun just a few short months before, the relationship ended one afternoon at Starbucks, with a mutual agreement that they would go their separate ways.

Since that first year on the job, she had avoided a lot of the organized gatherings for employees, preferring to socialize outside of the workplace and leave the fraternizing with co-workers to office hours.

Her cell phone rang, so she moved to a quiet corner where she could hear the caller. "Hello?"

"How's my Electric Barbarella?" It was Ronan, one of her closest friends.

"Oh, you're not starting that again, are you?" She couldn't help but laugh. It was a game they sometimes played, where they'd converse using song titles from 80s pop bands. Duran Duran was one of Ronan's favorites, and the song title was appropriate, given all the gadgets that were flying off the shelves this season. She decided to play along. "I'm Hungry Like The Wolf. What's up?"

"Well, there's a New Moon on Monday. And I have a date. Her name is Rio."

"Girls just wanna have fun, you know." She grinned. Once upon a time Cyndi Lauper had been her idol.

"She’s double-jointed *and* a masseuse. Hold Me Now."

"Thompson Twins?" She made a gagging sound. "Do You Really Want To Hurt Me?"

"Oh god, have you SEEN him lately?" Ronan was referring to Boy George, and his recent costume-body art for ‘Taboo’ the musical on Broadway.

"I heard he was caught in a New York public restroom blowing some kid."

"No way."

"Would I Lie To You? Yeah, the boy-toy's sugar daddy caught them while the flame was blazing, so to speak."

"Yikes. Talk about a Union Of The Snake."

"You’re so bad."

“And you love me for it.”

"Yeah," she relented, laughing. "I do."

"You’ll never guess who I saw today."

"I don’t have time for guessing games, Ro. I have a million things to do!!" She began to make her way down the mall while she talked.

"Dillon and his new bimbo."

She felt a knot in her stomach at the mention of his name. Dillon had been Cynthia’s ‘walk on the wild side’ after breaking up with the all-too-perfect Chris. He was a rebel not only without a cause, but sadly, without a clue. He was full of life and laughter, however, and had helped bring Cyn out of her shell. He had a t-shirt that read, "If you're not living on the edge, you're taking up too much space." That was him, alright. He loved thrill-seeking, and danger. He raced motorcycles at night, feeding his need for speed, and had a collection of firearms that could have fortified an entire squadron. After Chris, he had been like a breath of fresh air, someone who could get her adrenaline going. They skied the highest mountains they could find in the winter, and went ocean kayaking in the summer. The rush was incredible, but it wasn’t the lasting kind. He was dangerous, and it scared her. She didn't fear for herself -- he would never hurt her– but she feared for him. And to preserve her own sanity, she had ended things.

"What’s he up to now?"

"Said he and 'Candi' were going heli-skiing at Whistler."

"Jesus. They’ve been having avalanches in B.C. this month. Figures he’d want to go right now."

"You okay? You sound tense." She usually laughed at Dillon’s antics, but there was something different in her voice.

"Sure." She spotted the engravers on the other side of the mall, where she had to pick up some plaques and pens.

"That didn’t sound very convincing. What has the Karma Chameleon done now?" Ronan knew that Adam hadn’t been around very much because of his tweaked-out sister, and talk of former boyfriends always put Cynthia in a mood when there was trouble in paradise.

"It’s nothing, really. His family needs him now."

"And he needs you, Cyn. He probably just doesn’t express that very well." He wished she wouldn’t crawl into her cave and hibernate every time she thought she wasn’t wanted.

"I don’t know. Lately I can’t even gauge his mood."

"Then talk to him. Ask him. Maybe he’ll surprise you and actually open up."

"We’ll see."

"Chicken..."

"...make a lousy house pet,” she finished, quoting their favorite Dana Carvey skit from Saturday Night Live. “I gotta run, Ro. I’ll call you later."

"Later, C. Chin up, okay?"

. . . . .

Brian watched the blonde's beautiful bottom retreat as Justin headed off to meet Daphne, wiggling his hips for his partner’s benefit. The ad exec didn't notice Cynthia come up behind him, but she certainly noticed where his gaze was directed.

"Did you know that ‘bootylicious’ has been added to the dictionary?"

"Oh...hey," he greeted her, turning in surprise, and then, registering what she had said, furrowed his brow. "Huh?"

"Up," Gus pleaded, from his spot at Brian's feet. He was tired of being strapped in, and wanted to be free.

"You know, Destiny’s Child... the song ‘Bootylicious’? They added the word to the dictionary." Brian just stared at her. "You’re looking at me like I have three heads!" she laughed. "Don’t you listen to the radio?"

"Daddy, UP!!!!"

Brian looked down at his son and decided to at least remove his jacket, so he wouldn't get overheated. Noticing that he could use a little help, Cynthia held out her arms to take Gus, so Brian could pull the sleeves from his arms. As he pulled the jacket off, he bussed Gus’ cheek and made a raspberry sound, which made Gus laugh.

"This is Cynthia, Gus. Can you say Cynthia?"

"Sin-ee-ah," Gus said, mimicking the sound of her name.

"Cyn-thee-a," Brian said, enunciating the syllables for Gus' benefit. "Remember the 'th' sound, like 'thunder'?"

"No!!!" Gus cried, burying his face in Cyn's neck and holding tightly to her. He didn't like thunder; it made a loud noise outside his window and it scared him when he was alone in his room at night.

"It's okay Gus," Cynthia murmured soothingly, rubbing his back. She had been immediately charmed by the youngest of the Kinney clan, which was not surprising considering he was Brian’s son. She turned toward the skylights in the atrium. "It's nice and sunny outside, sweetie, look up!"

Gus peeked out from his hiding spot, and once assured there was no storm on the horizon, he relaxed and then began to giggle. The elves at the workshop across the way were doing a little dance to the Christmas music that was piped in through the mall speakers. "Daddy, go SANNA!!!" he cried, clapping his hands together.

"You want to go see Santa?"

"Yessssss!" He nodded his head vigorously, his widened hazel eyes an exact replica of his daddy’s.

"He's adorable, Brian." Cynthia had never met his son. She was seeing a new side of her boss, and she thought it suited him. To Gus, she added, "Have you been a good boy this year, Gus?"

Gus looked confused. He knew that being good was important to grown-ups, and especially to Santa. His mommies sometimes yelled at him when he did something bad. "Gus Peterson, NO!" mommy Lindsay would exclaim when he spilled his milk on the table, or when he threw things on the floor that didn't belong there. Mommy Mel used meaner, uglier words that sometimes made mommy Lindsay shush her.

When no response came from the tyke, Cynthia just smiled. "I'm sure you've been the very best boy you can be."

"Sanna, daddy!!"

Brian looked at his watch for possibly the fiftieth time that morning. "Where are your mommies, Gus?"

As if on cue, Lindsay came dashing up, her cheeks flushed, and her hair coated with a sprinkling of melting snowflakes. "Brian!"

She exchanged a polite hello with Cynthia, who handed over a still-squirming Gus.

"It's about time you got here!" Brian's patience was wearing thin. "I thought I was going to have to get in line with those evil brats. Where've you been?"

Lindsay gave him a long-suffering sigh. "In case you hadn't noticed, there are less than two weeks left until Christmas, Brian. The roads are a little busy! We got delayed in traffic. Mel's parking the car."

"You should have planned ahead and anticipated the delay," Brian snarked.

"Mommy!! Go SANNA!!!" Gus wailed, seeing all the other children in line, who were now being handed candy canes by the worker elves.

Cynthia laughed. "He's got a one-track mind this morning, but who can blame him? Those candy canes look pretty good!"

Brian gave her a sideways glance. "You going to go park your rump on Santa's lap? Maybe he’ll think you’re – what was it? ‘Bootylicious’?"

"Behave," she reprimanded him, blushing slightly. Santa did appear to be a little on the young side, and his belly was obviously all padding.

"Okay, okay, shhhhhh," Lindsay cooed, calming her son. "Let's go see Santa, Gus!" She turned to Cynthia once more. "It was nice meeting you."

"Likewise. Your son is adorable."

A colorful elf who appeared to have had more than his share of happy pills escorted Lindsay and Gus up the candy cane pathway to the winter wonderland gazebo where the bearded man awaited.

"Okay, let’s do this so we can both escape the nuthouse." Brian opened his jacket and pulled a piece of paper from the inside pocket.

Cynthia took the list from him and scanned the names. She frowned when she saw Lindsay, Justin and the names of a few other friends of his written on the paper. "Brian... you have *everyone* on here, not just clients and people at the firm."

"I know. I--" he paused, seeing the look on her face.

"These are your family and friends, Brian. Don't you think you should pick out their gifts yourself?"

"I don't know what to get. I'm not into fuzzy lezzie shit, or breeder habits. I figured you could take care of it for me."

"You’re serious? Justin too?" She couldn’t imagine asking someone else to get something for Adam, or vice-versa.

He shrugged. “What’s the big deal? I trust you."

"Brian, that’s not the point. It's not what you buy that matters. It's that you gave it some thought, that you cared enough to pick out the gifts yourself."

He snorted. "Believe me, they don't care."

"I don’t believe that. You have friends and family who obviously adore you, and I’m sure they would love anything you picked out, because it came from you."

He didn’t reply, and she knew from experience that the look on his face meant that his mind was made up. She tried a different approach. "Listen, Brian, I know the holidays can be difficult; they bring up painful memories we sometimes don’t want to deal with, and..."

He held up a hand. "Stop right there. If you want someone to bare his soul and share his pain, you better go look somewhere else. If you don’t want to get the gifts, that’s fine, just take care of the business shit. But I am not having this conversation with you."

She desperately wanted him to talk to her, to share what he was feeling, but she also knew that it wasn’t Brian’s style to open up like that. Brian was her boss, and after all, she had agreed to do the shopping for him. He had been very generous with her bonus this year as well. Like anyone else who took the time to get to know Brian -- as much as anyone could -- she knew that underneath the bravado was a kind heart and a decent human being. She was frustrated with him, however, for not appreciating what he had right in front of him, when others had so little. He had a devoted partner, a child, and at least a couple of friends who loved him to death no matter how he treated them. But she wasn't the Ghost of Jacob Marley come to show Ebeneezer Scrooge the error of his ways, so she simply went on her way, promising to take care of the gifts and leave them at the office for him to pick up later.

. . . . .

"So, do you know what you’re going to get Brian?" Daphne peered over the top of her dressing-room door at Justin, who was sitting in an overstuffed pink chair in front of a 3-way mirror that was only too eager to point out every flaw and imperfection of those who dared to model in front of it.

"He sold practically everything he owns to pay for that Jason Kemp commercial; it shouldn’t be too hard to find something he could use. But I kind of want it to be special, too."

"What do you think he’s going to get you?"

He shrugged, forgetting that she couldn’t see him. When no response came, she opened the door. "Justin?"

"Brian’s not really into giving presents, Daph. I’m not expecting anything, but that doesn’t mean I can’t still get him something. After all, it’s Christmas.” He smiled, not wanting to dwell on past disappointments. He and Brian were together now, and he didn’t need material things to be reassured of his partner’s devotion. He knew Brian loved him, in his own way. "I like that one," he said, referring to the sweater she had pulled on.

"Me too. But I want to try on the first one again just to compare.” She dashed back into the dressing room, the gift discussion put aside for the moment, then reappeared with a pair of navy pants in her hands. “Can you see if they have these in black?"

He rolled his eyes and groaned, wondering if they would ever get out of there to shop for presents.

. . . . .

The rubber of the Stingray’s tires screeched across the pavement of the parking lot as Brian made his escape. There was a chill in the air, but the winter had been considerably mild compared to past years. Cynthia’s words rolled around inside his brain as he took a long drag off his cigarette. He was too stubborn to admit that maybe she had been right. It wasn’t that he didn’t care. He just didn’t see the point in undertaking what, for him, would be a tedious exercise at best. He thought it should be enough that he had forgone his usual rule about celebrating only achievement. Besides, Cyn had a creative flair, and was likely to have much more success than he ever could. Still, the nagging feeling persisted. He took another puff and headed for Woody’s. The best way Brian knew to deal with cognitive dissonance was to drown it in alcohol.

. . . . .

"Hey sweetie!" Cynthia greeted Jazz, who seemed very happy to see her at the front door. She dumped her packages in the front hall and picked up the cat. "You are so lucky you don’t have to deal with crowded parking lots. Or grumpy friends." She sighed, wishing there was something she could have done differently or more she could have said to Brian to let him know she wasn’t judging him. She hoped that he would like the items she had selected. The idea made her laugh... it was the recipients about whom she should be concerned. She had left messages with Brian, to let him know what she had picked up, just in case he didn’t care for her choices, but he hadn’t returned her calls.

The blinking of the message light on her phone drew her attention.

"Hey gorgeous!" She grinned. It was Adam’s pet name for her. "I tried your cell, but you must have it turned off. Anyway, I hate to do this to you again, but I’m not going to be able to make it for dinner tonight." Her smile faded. She’d been stood up again. "I’ll give you a call tomorrow, maybe we can hook up on the weekend. My parents would love to see you. Gotta run. Love you."

She thought about what Ronan had said to her. "He needs you." Maybe he did. But for what? The words from a Jewel song came to mind. "No longer lend your strength to that which you wish to be free from." Should she just give up? She had decided a long time ago never to make a decision when she was emotional. This was decidedly one of those times.

. . . . .

One Week Later...

Lindsay was nearly in tears when Mel entered the living room. “What did the shithead do this time?" she asked, having seen Brian's name on the envelope that her partner had just opened.

"Look for yourself," she said, sniffing. What Mel didn’t know was that they were tears of joy.

"It’s a book of cartoons. Is this some kind of a joke?"

"No, Mel, it’s not. Brian wouldn’t do that to Gus. You can see Justin did the artwork."

The book was a series of coupons, with promises for various Gus-related activities with his ‘daddies’ during the holidays, and throughout the year as well: a day at the zoo, a weekend of babysitting, swim classes for tots, and much more. Justin had created a beautiful piece of artwork to accompany the book as well.

For once, Mel was left speechless. "This is actually.... really nice!"

Lindsay reached for a tissue and the cordless phone. "I’m going to call him right now."

. . . . .

"Brian, I.... I don't know what to say." Justin was floored by his gift. In his hand was an itinerary for a trip to Italy, with the travel dates yet to be determined.

"Don't say anything." He pulled Justin to him and kissed the top of his head. "What kind of an artist would you be if you never went to Europe?"

"You can't afford this. WE can't afford this." In order to save money, his gift to Brian had been a portrait of Brian and Gus, one that he had painted from a photograph that Lindsay had taken earlier that year. He could have sworn Brian had tears in his eyes when he saw it. But a trip to Italy?

"Not right now, but soon. I promise." Brian didn't make promises he couldn't keep. Justin knew he meant it. He made a noise that was somewhere between a squeal and a laugh, and hugged Brian tightly.

"You’re the best boy–" he stopped short of saying the word "boyfriend" because he knew it made Brian cringe. "You’re the best, Brian." He kissed him soundly.

After a few moments of enjoying Justin’s lips, Brian pulled back and shrugged, as if it were no big deal. "I need some new couture, so why not go to the source?"

Justin grinned. God forbid the almighty Kinney actually admit that he WANTED to spend time alone with his partner on a romantic getaway for the sake of the relationship. He decided to let him off easy this time. "Well, you DO look incredible in Prada."

"I think you'd look good in Venice."

"Ever since Em gave us those tickets he bought with his inheritance, I’ve wanted to go to Europe with you. Oh! Can we dance in the fountains?"

"What?"

"The fountains... they're all over the place... and we have to see the museums, and the ruins, and...."

Brian planted another kiss on the blonde to shut him up, before he got completely caught up in travel plans.

. . . . .

"Whoa! I see you're on your way out!” Brian stood at the door to Cynthia’s apartment. “Big party, or something a little more intimate, maybe?"

Her cheeks reddened, and she looked slightly embarrassed. She thought it had been the delivery boy again, wanting to use her phone. The last person she expected to see was her boss. She had put on her designer dress, but had no intention of actually wearing it out that evening. Adam was busy yet again, although he had invited her to accompany him to his parents' house, where another "family meeting" was taking place. She didn't know whom she was punishing more by not going -- Adam, or herself. Her pride kept her from telling Brian the truth.

"Don't tell me you've changed your mind about the gifts again, Brian, because if I have to go back to that mall--"

"No, no. In fact, just the opposite. That’s part of the reason I’m here, actually. I’d like to return them. I made a few purchases myself."

She stared at him, dumbfounded. "Come in," she gestured toward her living room.

He stepped inside, shoving his hands in his pockets. "You were right, okay?" There. He'd said it. "I shouldn’t have asked you to do my personal shopping for me, and I'm sorry about what I said to you."

"It’s okay," she said, with a hint of a smile. "I was upset about some other things that day, and I took it out on you."

"Well aren’t we a pair," he grinned.

"I just want you to know that I wasn’t trying to pry into your personal life. I think I was projecting, or maybe trying to get my mind off my own problems."

"It’s forgotten."

"Let me get those bags for you." She started to leave the room, but he stopped her.

"Wait. I’ve been giving out gifts today, ones I bought, I mean, and it felt pretty good. I actually had one more to deliver," he said, smiling. He held out the box in his hand to her.

Cynthia stared, wide-eyed. "Brian, I... I don't know what to say."

"That seems to be a popular phrase today," he grinned, remembering Justin’s earlier reaction. "It's the least you deserve." He knew she put up with a lot from him, and he also knew that if he were in her shoes, he would have left a long time ago.

She opened the box to find some of her favorite beauty products, a beautiful silk scarf, and a jazz CD.

"I know you like that girly stuff," he grinned, earning him a playful smack on the arm.

"I'm not a girly girl," she laughed, knowing she wasn't fooling him. "This is really sweet. Thank you." Suddenly Brian found himself enveloped in a hug.

After a moment, Cynthia pulled back and handed him the CD. “Why don’t you do the honors? I'll get your packages."

Brian popped the CD into the player, and the room filled with bright sounds. Brian spotted the bag of take-out on the counter and wondered if he'd been wrong about Cynthia's plans for the evening. He remembered what she had said about having her own problems, and wondered if maybe Cyn was stuck at home tonight, with nowhere to show off her great dress.

When she returned, Brian held out his hand. "May I have this dance?"

Cynthia started to laugh. "You're not serious! Brian, I wouldn't make you do that."

"Come on. You know I never do stuff like this, so you better take advantage because the opportunity isn't likely to present itself again. Besides, you're dressed for it, and you'd be passing up a chance to dance with the best looking guy in the room."

She laughed. "We're the only people here, Brian."

"Details," he said, waving his hand. He took her in his arms and they began to move to the rhythm.

She laughed.

"What?"

"This is turning out to be a very strange evening." There was something in her voice – an emotion that he couldn’t quite detect.

"Is anything wrong?"

"No, no... I just...." suddenly she was crying, and Brian found himself at a loss for what to do. Justin certainly had his 'drama queen' moments, but at least they were short-lived and usually the reason was obvious. Women on the other hand seemed to have a set of emotional hot buttons that could be pushed at any moment, for any reason.

The look on Brian’s face told Cynthia he was out of his element, and was wishing the floor would swallow him up. She composed herself before patting his shoulder reassuringly, and laughed. "Don't freak out. They're good tears, Brian." She sighed, and sat down on the sofa. "The truth is, I'm not going out tonight. I was feeling alone and miserable, and I was upset because I thought you had everything I wanted, and didn't even appreciate it." He bowed his head, looking a bit sheepish. She continued, "But it's not that you don't appreciate it... you just like to show it in your own way. And just when I think you're too thick to get it, you turn around and do something sweet like this.”

Before he could respond, Jazz padded over to where Brian was standing and gave him the once-over, then wrapped his tail around one of the long calves and rubbed his head against the denim of Brian's pantleg, after deciding he was 'safe'. Brian reached down to scratch the cat behind its ears.

"I think he likes you," she grinned. "Just be careful he doesn't give you a little nip. He’s sort of protective when it comes to strange men in my apartment."

"I’m not that strange." He looked up at her. "Well?"

"Well what?" Cynthia was confused.

"Aren't you going to tell me what a shame it is that I'm not straight?" He straightened up and gave her his best Kinney smirk. "What is it that het women say... 'why are the good ones always gay'?" He was teasing, but she was on to him.

"I should smack you for that, Kinney. I'm not completely oblivious; I know you have a rep. I'd never expect you to be anything less than what you are, and I'd never deny your team one of the best players around. Besides," she added, standing up and giving him a little hip-check, "you have two left feet."

He laughed. "Touché."

. . . . .

She stood at the window of her apartment, watching Brian drive away, and regretting some of the choices she had made. It was time to stop feeling sorry for herself, and waiting for good things to come to her; to stop blaming bad timing for things that she felt she couldn’t control, and make her own happiness instead. Suddenly she knew what she needed to do. She walked over to the phone, picked up the receiver, and hit speed dial. She drew in a deep breath as it rang on the other end and a familiar voice answered.

"Hello?"

"Adam, it's me."